


Poor Little Rich Bitch

by AnotherAnon0



Series: Poor Little Rich Bitch: Extended [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Begging, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Class Differences, Consensual Non-Consent, Crossdressing, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Drunken Shenanigans, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Fucked Up, Gang Rape, Gratuitous Smut, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Lingerie, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prolapse, Prostate Milking, Rape Fantasy, Russophobia, Sergei is annoyed and Alfred is annoying and he learns his LESSON, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spitroasting, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping, non-con to consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Alfred learns that if you poke a bear... you will get bit.[Pre-Code Veronica. Final chapter now up! Please heed tags for filthiness and other bad things]
Relationships: Alfred Ashford/Ivan | Tyrant T-103 Variation, Alfred Ashford/Sergei Vladimir, Alfred Ashford/UBCS Mercenaries
Series: Poor Little Rich Bitch: Extended [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077350
Comments: 57
Kudos: 59





	1. Poor Little Rich Bitch

Sergei would do anything to keep Lord Spencer happy. His devotion to the company was unmatched, unwavering, and unquestionable by anyone. 

But when the elderly patriarch demanded he go to Rockfort Island, Sergei felt himself wavering -- if only for a moment. 

Alfred was, for lack of a better term, a _pain in the ass_. He had been for almost every Umbrella staffer who had the displeasure of interacting with him. 

An entitled, arrogant child with no respect for authority or the company. 

Standing at his bedroom door, having been sent there by a busy butler, Sergei had to steel himself of the irritation that had _already_ welled up in his chest, eyes rolling almost at the thought of seeing the other man though it hadn't yet even happened. 

"You have a job to do..." He murmured to himself, sighing and raising a fist and rasping thrice on the massive, intricately pressed double-doors. 

"Come in!" The singsongy greeting that chirped through in response sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Sergei. 

He twisted the handle, opening the entrance and stepping in past the threshold slowly, closing the door behind him. The room was cast in a glow of yellow light, the antique bulbs flickering slightly as they penetrated through the beautifully-painted sconces and chandelier. Alfred's bedroom was larger than most of the home Sergei had ever lived in. Even now, in a high position for a well-to-do corporation, he slept in his small, industrial office most nights, far too busy with work to even dream of having a residence to escape to for relaxation.

"Oh. Hello, _you_." Alfred giggled. The older man composed himself, taking a deep, silent breath through his nose before responding as cordially as he was able to, bowing his head respectfully.

"Good evening, Alfr--"

" _Lord Ashford_." 

"Lord... Ashford." Sergei grit his teeth and cleared his throat, tongue passing over his lower lip as he suppressed the twitch of frustration already swelling in his cheek. After a moment of silence, watching the blonde sip away casually at what he assumed was an expensive wine not to be used for drunken jaunts, Sergei launched into his pre-prepared, corporate chastising.

"Lord Spencer is expressing displeasure with your recent governmental decisions. He feels as though you are exposing the company to legal lia--"

Alfred snorted loudly, waving his hand dismissively as he swallowed a gulp of the dark, red wine. 

"Lord Spencer is a stuffy old coot." Alfred sighed, "My grandfather, the 5th Earl Ashford, did far more for Umbrella than he."

Sergei's hands balled at his sides, the leather of his gloves crunching loudly under the pressure, " ** _Lord_** Spencer is concerned about the legal liabilities associated with your handling of the Rockfo--"

"Why didn't he come down here himself?" Alfred interrupted again, clicking his tongue against his teeth, "Can he not afford a wheelchair-accessible boat?"

The older man's eye twitched, words slowly leaking out of his scarred lips as though he were talking to someone of a low mental capability, "I am _trying_ to give you the information I was _told_ to give you."

Albert scoffed a laugh, setting his now-empty wine glass down. He propped his hand up on his fist, elbow planted on the gorgeous wood of the desk beneath him.

"I don't care!" He squeaked indignantly, "This is _my_ Island! My father, the 6th Earl Ashford, o--"

" **Your father was a _burzhauznaya svin'ya_**." Sergei forcefully interrupted, nostrils flaring as the frustration in his lungs began to swelter and smoke up into his brain, creating a polluted fog that stole his normally impeccable self-control. Alfred always had that power over him, and he hated that fact -- something about the boy's total lack of respect coupled with his wantless lifestyle and that grating, _grating_ accent was the perfect calculation to send him over the edge every time.

Alfred put his fingers on his chest as though he were clutching invisible pearls, "How dare you!" He peeped, "I mean.. I don't know what you said but I'm sure it wasn't kind. And it sounded so ugly in that _wretched_ language." 

"Wretched language?" Sergei practically hissed. He could feel his wrist clicking under the locked strain, "Wretched language?" He repeated in near-disbelief.

"It's such a classless tongue. Italian is so much nicer!" The blonde snatched the bottle of wine from the table, still staring the older man down righteously, he poured himself another glass. "Why couldn't Spencer have found an Italian grunt? Russians have no etiquette."

" ** _What do you know about Russia_**?!" Sergei felt himself coming undone, the outburst entirely out of character for the usual, professional stoicism that accompanied his completion of work-related tasks. He grimaced angrily, lip cocking over a snarl that would make any bear tremble in fear -- let alone a human, who would have likely run for the hills.

But Alfred simply snorted and sipped his wine contently, head bobbing to the side like an arrogant toddler.

"I know everyone is very poor. And sad. And dirty." Alfred pouted, curling his lower lip, "That's communism for you."

Sergei felt his rage climax, fireworks and flares erupting behind his good eye. If looks alone could kill, Alfred would have disintegrated on the spot.

In an instant Sergei had strode forward, grabbing Alfred's wrist and jerking him away from the desk. The wine glass toppled to the floor as the younger man stumbled up and was carelessly tossed towards the nearest wall. Alfred gasped loudly, eyes snapping wide as the sudden, violent manipulation took him off guard completely. 

Sergei closed his hand around Alfred's white, silken necktie, balling it in his fist and using it as as a grip by which he held Alfred against the wall firmly.

"You... little petulant _ant_." Sergei hissed quietly, having to dip his head down to close the amusing gap in their height, "You have no respect. None!" 

"Let. Me. Go." Alfred's voice trembled somewhat for the first time since Sergei had entered the room. It was instantaneously satisfying, but not nearly enough, the young man's face still twisted in outrage and entitlement. 

"Not everyone was born into such a life of decadence." Sergei continued, totally ignoring the protests squeaking out from beneath him, his grip steadily getting tighter on the delicate fabric,"Not everyone has the luxury of sitting in their mansion all day and fingering themselves while wearing pretty dresses."

"How dare you!!" Alfred barked, "You let me go _this bloody instant_ or I'll tell Umbrella to pack you in the next shipping crate to _shithole nowhere_ Siberia!"

Immediately, Sergei complied -- but not in the way Alfred likely wanted. 

Using his grip on the younger man's clothes, Sergei pushed Alfred away from the wall, tossing him towards the large, four-poster bed in the centre of the room with all the ease of a child throwing around a rag doll. Alfred toppled over, half falling onto the mattress with a yelp, grabbing at the velvet sheets in an attempt to stabilise himself. 

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" 

Sergei stalked closely to him, "Teaching you _respect_."

Alfred scoffed loudly, "As if! You can't teach me anything, you can barely speak Engli--"

The backhand knocked the wind out of his lungs, Alfred's cheek immediately flaring in inflammation at the strike. Sergei had to control himself -- limiting the force he projected through his arm, knowing fully that he could easily snap the boy's skull in two in a single blow if he wasn't careful. As much as he wanted to, he knew that might cause some problems at the company. 

Alfred's hand darted up to grab his cheek, mouth gaping in horror. "Y--you giant oaf! G-get out of my r-room!"

Sergei issued another slap, this time using his palm.

"Not..."

_FWAP_ , another slap landed on Alfred's cheek, interrupting his indignant gasp.

"Until..."

_FWAP_

"You..."

_FWAP_

"Learn!"

Alfred felt tears pricking at the inner corners of his eyes, cheeks stinging and flushing an angry, warm red. 

Sergei grabbed the boy by the cravat again, pulling and pushing him up onto the bed fully. Putting a knee on the mattress for stability, Sergei grabbed at each lapel of the fancy, red uniform coat Alfrad was wearing, the buttons popping off of it as he ripped it open. The brown belt closing the bottom of the overcoat was quickly discarded, Sergei ignoring the tepid, weak claws trying to pull his hands away. 

"You bastard! That belonged to my father!" Alfred squealed, eyes glassy and voice cracking. 

Sergei paused for a moment, hands now gripping the white dress shirt he found beneath the red coat. 

"Oh. Really?" He mewed softly, batting the eyelashes of his unscarred eye innocently, "I'm-- I'm so sorry."

Alfred stared up at him as the silence settled for a brief moment, sniffling pathetically, cheek trembling and lips quivering.

The moment was instantaneously gone, Sergei's cruel smirk returning with an almost audible malice.

"Just kidding!"

With that, he tore down the seam of the expensive shirt, pushing the fabric to the side to expose Alfred's chest. Immediately, the sight he found there prompted a bellowing cackle of amusement. 

"Oh, well! Look at this!" Sergei pushed Albert's arm away, which had immediately darted up to cover himself in shame. The silver rings affixed to each of the young man's nipples glimmered in the dim, yellow light of the bedroom. 

"So the stories are true after all." Sergei chuckled, flicking one of the rings firmly a few times, prompting a tiny peep to bubble from Alfred's flushed lips, "The rich bitch is a little faggot."

"Just-- Just because _you_ can't get _laid_ doesn't mean we all struggle with that problem!" Alfred snapped.

"Nyet, nyet." Sergei chided, hands moving to his own overcoat, unbuckling the elaborate claps and buttons before letting it fall off of his shoulders, "I don't have a problem finding partners, _Britanskaya shlyukha_."

Alfred swallowed hard, watching Sergei make quick work of the fly. His breaths were ragged, tears still trickling down his flushed cheeks, pangs of sharp pain emanating from the swollen, reddened flesh. The air quickly depleted from his lungs when Sergei freed his half-hard organ, the monstrous size matching the man's overall towering demeanour. 

"I have a problem finding partners _who can handle me_." He sneered deviously, turning his attention back to Alfred's trousers, unbuckling the young man's belt and fiddling with his button.

"O-oh..." Alfred slapped his hand over his mouth, trying to prevent the little groans that accompanied his bearing witness. He barely resisted the prodding tugs at his pants, internally chastising himself for the lack of resistance he was suddenly displaying. He attempted a protest, though the tiny, weak breathiness of his voice sold him out, "D-don't touch me, you b-big ugly Slavic ogre!"

Sergei didn't even bother responding, grabbing a fistful of material from each side of Alfred's hips and tugging the trousers down. curious as to what he'd discover next.

His smirk turned into a full-on grin as the fabric slipped down over the younger man's thighs, brow furrowing devilishly. 

"Of course..." Sergei purred excitedly, cock twitching hungrily as his gaze locked on the sight.

Pink, lacy panties. Tiny, delicate frills and bows playfully danced along the tight, pale flesh of Alfred's hipbones, every intricate detail hugging the boy's gentle, boney curves so perfectly suggesting the panties were custom made. 

"So cute. You dressed up." Sergei licked his lips like a hungry beast, expression making Alfred squeak in a mingling mix of fear, anxiety, and burning, boiling **_lust_**.

The older man stopped to toss Alfred's shoes off, pulling the trousers from his legs and tossing them to the wine-stained floor. 

"Tell me!" Sergei grinned, "Did you want me to fuck you, or are you just always _ready_ like a good little faggot?"

"I don-- I don't want you to d-do anything!" Alfred protested meekly, "Y-you're going to ruin me with that disgusting thing!"

" _Nyet, nyet, nyet._.." Sergei mewed, "You are no virgin! I can tell just by the way you looked at my cock. You were practically drooling. _"_

He grabbed the panties and tugged them down Alfred's thighs, placing on hand on the young man's right hip and turning him roughly onto his left side. Alfred gasped as he was easily manipulated, Sergei clutching his top thigh and lifting it until the panties had stretched as far as they were able to. The Russian peered intently between his most intimate contours, assessing him mischievously. Alfred felt humiliation welling up in his lungs, burning them with every breath he took. It mingled with the heat in his stomach, making his mind dangerously hazy.

" _Nyet_! Not at all." Sergei jeered, reaching out with his free hand to play his fingers along the peachy, hairless, slit-like entrance, "You are well-fucked, aren't you, _Alik_?"

Alfred felt a new wave of droplets cascade from his eyes, sniffling and whining stupidly as Sergei tugged at one of his cheeks, pulling the hole open slightly. 

"That's all you have to do, after all!" Sergei pulled the leg he was holding to rest beside his hip, "Little rich boy who wants for nothing -- you spend your days on your hands and knees, getting fucked by your butlers?"

"N-no!"

"No?" Sergei brought one of his gloved fingers to his mouth, dipping it inside and sickening it quickly, "Do you prefer to do it on your own? Is that it?"

The penetration was unceremonious, quick and rough. Alfred gasped as the long, leather-clad finger punctured him roughly, Sergei pushing it in all the way to the knuckle. He was satisfied with the lack of resistance the muscles offered.

"Perhaps you fist yourself while lounging in the tub like a proper princely faggot?"

"N... no-- _ohh_...." Alfred couldn't suppress a moan when Sergei began prodding his walls, stroking up towards his belly button in search for his prostate. 

Sergei leaned down slightly, spitting a glob of saliva towards his glove in an attempt to moisten up another finger. 

"Y-you're... disgust-ing..." Alfred grunted, eyes fluttering beneath heavy, flushed lids, "G-gross..."

Sergei scoffed an amused chuckle, slipping his second finger in with the first. A little quiver wracked its way across Alfred's chest as he did, but still, Sergei didn't find tremendous resistance from the entrance. He clucked his tongue in mock-disappointment, "My goodness! This is practically a _cunt_."

The moisture of his spit _squelched_ as he pushed his digits around in the hole, scissoring, curling, and prodding them about roughly. Alfred was moaning quietly, brain shifting rapidly between the internal self-chastising and anxious excitement. 

"This is a lesson, but you can still enjoy it, _Alik_." Sergei purred, using the pads of both of his inserted fingers to stroke firmly at the wall hiding Alfred's prostate.

"I d-don... _unhhh_..." Alfred tried to protest, but failed, words getting lost in a loud moan as the rhythm of Sergei's stroking began to play into his mind, disrupting every logical thought.

"You do!" Sergei smirked, "I know you have been wanting this. Ever since that day on the dock?"

Alfred sobbed desperately, shaking his head into the pillow. A part of him -- the only part that worked -- was momentarily shocked the older man had known he'd been peering at him the day in question. It was almost one year ago -- when the U.B.C.S base had been moved to Rockfort. Sergei had been training a group of elite supervisors, and after had wandered off to the dock on his own. While waiting for the night boat back to Argentina, he'd peeled his uniform off and sunk into the water to cool off and relax. He had known eyes were on him -- but if it hadn't been for that precarious red uniform that didn't blend into the trees or rocks whatsoever, he might have thought it were a mercenary.

"Why had you even been at the base, _Alik_?" Sergei stopped his stroking for a moment, cocking his head to the side and waiting for Alfred's hazy eyes to open, "Scoping out the big, strong soldiers, hmmm?"

"N.. no..."

" _Da_. You wanted to think about all of them ruining you... Raping you until you were a sloppy, leaking corpse. Is that right?"

"No!" 

"Or perhaps you've already invited some of my men here..." Sergei grinned dopily, his face also infested with that nefarious, lusty blush, "... and that's why you're such a loose mess!"

Before Alfred could protest again, Sergei resumed his thrusting and prodding, much rougher this time. It caught the younger man's words in his throat, a gasp bubbling from his lips. His stomach was fluttering, head spinning, veins coursing with the warmest blood. 

"You think you are too good for everyone but really you _fantasise_ about taking big, sweaty cocks from hardworking men."

He couldn't help the orgasm that was forced from him, Sergei's filthy words combined with how he was expertly working his prostate until it spasmed under his ministrations. Cum began drooling from Alfred's pink cock onto the elaborate, velvet sheets, small, cute, hairless balls twitching with a rapid orgasm.

Sergei pulled his fingers out, chuckling in pride at how he'd manipulated the younger man so quickly. He reached across Alfred's body, offering the sticky, moist digits to him to suck. Alfred stared at them for a moment, looking drunk and incapable, before parting his lips and letting Sergei slip his fingers inside. His tongue swirled around them, the mingling taste of the leather of the older man's gloves and his own fluids intoxicating him even further. 

As he suckled, Sergei was stroking his own cock, the monstrous beast harder than it had ever been. Already, precum was drooling from it, smearing its way onto Alfred's pale thighs. Still in Alfred's mouth, he lined the head of his erection up to the slack, juicy hole.

"Time for your lesson, _Alik_." Sergei jeered cruelly, waiting for Alfred's eyes to flick towards him before thrusting with a single, long, hard movement of his hips.

The pale, blue orbs shot open widely, the young man sputtering around his fingers as he was suddenly, aggressively filled to the hilt. Drool and spittle shot out of the corners of his mouth, legs twitching pathetically and hands darting up to grab at Sergei's arm. In response, Sergei simply shoved his fingers in deeper, clutching down at Alfred's tongue and poking the back of his throat abusively. 

Alfred's squeal was muffled, eyes rolling back in his head as Sergei issued the first few thrusts, sloppily trying to open the hole further. 

"Ahh... much tighter the deeper I go, little one." Sergei sighed happily, "A perfect fit. I am impressed!"

Alfred could feel the older man's hardness prodding at his stomach, forcing his body to accommodate it roughly. His hole burned with the sudden gape, and he could feel the slightest tear at his entrance. Sergei may have enjoyed it, but it was far from the _perfect fit_ for him, body lurching and trembling as waves of pain intersected with equally powerful waves of pleasure. Alfred felt so full he almost wanted to vomit. 

Sergei's fingers began to match the thrusts he was issuing to Alfred's stretched out hole, the digits working in and out of his throat roughly, causing the Brit to gurgle and gag.

The older man was grunting loudly, mewing and praising his toy excitedly. He slowed his thrusts for a moment as his free hand grabbed at one of Alfred's flailing wrists, gently tugging it down to rest on his lower belly.

"Do you feel it, _moya kukla_?"

Alfred whined around the fingers still lodged deep in his throat.

"Do you feel my cock inside of you, dirtying you?" Sergei purred sadistically, dipping his head a bit lower to whisper into Alfred's ear, "I'm apart of you now, _kukla_. Forever."

Alfred fingers danced over the erection prodding at his abdominal wall, the bulge jutting and falling as Sergei resumed his deep, hard thrusts. He practically yelped when the older man suddenly withdrew his fingers, smearing the saliva he'd left on them across his face before straddling himself over him to issue even deeper thrusts.

The inside of Alfred's mouth burned as air rushed into it, lips swollen and red from the prolonged abuse.

Sergei's orgasm came blissfully soon after, a massive load of hot seed spilling into him, his intestines lurching in protest as they were suddenly filled with the warm, sticky fluid.

"G--gahh!" Alfred gasped, head lulling back onto the pillow, thighs twitching pathetically as another touchless-climax was forced from him in Sergei's final thrusts.

The older man chuckled breathily, settling for a moment until he could feel himself softening inside the still-spasming younger man.

With a satisfied sigh, Sergei withdrew, glancing down to watch his seed bubble from the ruined, gaping hole -- the tiniest bit of pink mixed in with the discharge. 

"Very good." He nodded, "And you have learned your lesson?" He peered down inquisitively, amused when Alfred was still a twitching, bumbling mess. After a moment of watching the display of vulnerable ruin, Sergei reached out and grabbed Alfred's cheeks between his fingers, squeezing them tightly.

"What do you say, _Lord Ashford_?" He sneered through still-blushing features, "Where are those expensive, bought-for manners?"

"F-fhhhank youh." Alfred mumbled distortedly through his twisted lips, 

" _Nyet_." Sergei shook his head, "Repeat after me: _Spah-si-bah_."

" _Spah_..." Alfred swallowed, working his way through the Russian syllables as ordered, "... _si-bah_."

"Good!" Sergei beamed, dropping his hands away and slipping off of the mattress. Before tucking himself away, he grabbed the red uniform coat he'd ripped, cleaning his cock with it carelessly. Alfred groaned, watching his father's possession be desecrated even further. 

"You know -- I think I will keep this." Sergei waved the red fabric around, other hand tucking his now-dried cock away, "I need a cumrag. And this material is nice and soft."

"F--fuck off! That's m-my..."

Sergei snorted, shaking his head in amusement.

"Just buy another one. Rich bitch."


	2. Filthy Little Rich Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of naughty, smutty vignettes.

It had backfired spectacularly. 

He had simply been putting Alfred in his place. That was all. A quick, filthy, dubiously enjoyable rape that had left the snobby prude gasping, leaking, and subservient.

But when the memories from the impromptu tryst began to interfere with his sleep -- sweaty, wet dreams jolting him awake and forcing him into cold showers at the earliest hours of the morning -- Sergei knew he would lose his usually flawless self-control eventually. It was a ticking timebomb.

Worse was that Umbrella had moved the executive team to Rockfort as _precarious_ situations stabilised in America and Russia. 

What had been avoidable due to sheer distance was now a glowing terrace light visible in the distance, just over the treetops where the manor was perched like a mighty castle. Sergei could see it from the window in his quarters at the U.B.C.S facility. He'd already requested some rather thick, black curtains. 

Impossibly worse yet, as though the Gods themselves were conspiring against him, was that Alfred had noticed _it_. 

_It_. A vulnerability. Like a stain on a shirt impossible to hide or wash off.

The glares Sergei shot at the younger man over the table during the weekly boardroom briefings masked anxiously bouncing legs and churning guts, desperate pen-clicking and teeth grinding. It was there that the blonde had the upper hand -- fully aware Sergei was powerless to action on his bratty provocations in front of dozens of Umbrella executives, most of which Alfred was a nephew or cousin of.

He'd boldly play his thumb over his lower lip and letting it just barely pop inside, lips closing around the tip for the briefest second before the action disappeared in time as though it had never happened at all. 

He'd rub his lips together and bite the bottom petal, letting it swell and flush in a compliment to his half-lidded glances of need. 

Today, he had been sucking a lollipop. A strawberry one. One which stained his lips as he curled them over the bulbous candy in agonisingly slow sucks. Sergei had wanted to flay him alive right there in front of Lord Spencer. 

Sergei returned to his quarters quickly after the meeting, immediately lunging for his liquor cabinet and snatching up his favourite vodka. He didn't bother with a glass, tossing off the metal cap and taking a hearty swig from the bottle. The burn was soothing, and immediately brought him down from whatever mix of rage and arousal he had been festering in for the last two hours. 

He switched on his record player, hoping some Tchaikovsky would calm his nerves further. He sighed, taking another drink before setting the bottle down again and working through his pockets to try and find his cigarettes. 

Spencer hated it when he smelled like smoke -- but he desperately needed the nicotine. 

Suddenly, he heard a vibration. His eyes flicked down towards the coffee table where he'd discarded his cellphone earlier. The small device glowed brightly with a message notification.

He snatched up the small device from the surface, squinting to read the SMS that was lighting up the screen.

_6:43 p.m: Come to the manor tonight. I want to talk._

Sergei growled, angrily clicking away at the too-small keys on the keypad.

_6:45 p.m: No_

The response was almost immediate.

_6:45 p.m: In about an hour? xo_

**~**

The Russian had sent Alfred's butler running as he forced his way through the front door with none of the professional courtesies he normally provided. Barrelling through the foyer in purposeful, furious strides, he silently communicated he was not to be spoken to. When he arrived to Alfred's _boudoir_ , he found the younger man pouring himself wine, a silky, red housecoat draped over his boney shoulders.

"You know -- at first I was really upset!" Alfred began speaking the moment Sergei had crossed the threshold the room, the door aggressively crashing open against the opposing wall in a swing that almost took it off its hinges not phasing the blonde in the slightest. 

Sergei huffed through his nose, jaw clenched tightly. 

"I felt so upset and _dirty_ I could barely leave bed for two days!" Alfred continued, pouting slightly. He took a sip of the wine, blue eyes flicking up to stare at the older man, "But I had a change of heart. I don't know why, but I did." 

Slowly, he rose from his chair, plucking the wine glass up with him as he did. 

"Maybe it's because I couldn't stop touching myself those two days." He said flatly, voice sinking slightly as he sulked up towards the older man with a certain grace, "And I've never been one to deny myself something I want."

Sergei's scarred lip twitched when the blonde's feet almost grazed his boots. A long, perfectly manicured finger reached out to dance along the fabric of his coat, trailing along his breastbone and curling around his arm as Alfred began to circle him. 

"I always get what I want, Sergei." He whispered, "Isn't that what you _hate_ about me?"

Alfred's finger tickled at the Colonel's spine as he came around to the other side, peeking his head around the older man's tremendous shoulder.

"I'm handing you a blank check."

Sergei sighed deeply, gaze pointedly fixed on the furthest wall in the room. His tongue darted out to play along his scarred lips, thoughts circling through his head in a painful fog. 

He could smell the wine and expensive cologne on the younger man, wafting around his nose and tickling the tip seductively as he came to stand before him again. 

His Adams apple bobbed over the high collar of his coat, but it was not from nervousness. His mind was in a tug of war between his conscious control and his body's screaming demand he defile the blonde as he had before.

"Be careful who you hand a blank check to, _malysh_." The words were involuntary, forcing their way past his lips after he'd cleared his throat.

Alfred took a tepid sip of his wine, licking his flushed lips and settling into a smile. "Be careful who you accept a blank check from..."

Sergei reached out and plucked the wine glass from the shorter man's hand, drinking the remaining half-flute in a single swallow before tossing the glass to the side nonchalantly. The glass shattered when it hit the tile floor, drawing Alfred's attention as high brows cocked high in surprise. Immediately after, Sergei snatched Alfred by the throat, the rapid movement prompting a gasp of shock from the younger man. Sergei pushed his much smaller, much lighter frame into the nearest wall. The blonde weighed almost nothing to the beastly man, easily propped up on his tip-toes as Sergei lifted him slightly. Involuntarily, Alfred's hand darted up to grip at Sergei's, a rosey haze washing over his face that most certainly couldn't have been from the relatively light grasp around his throat. 

" _Malysh_..." Sergei sighed again, almost irritated, "You are playing a very dangerous game."

"G-good." The response was a slight croak.

"Do you want to be ruined?" Sergei cocked his head to the side, an amused smirk playing at his lips, "Does the little rich bitch _want_ to be destroyed? Broken?"

" _Mmmph_..." 

Sergei squeezed harder, a choke and some spittle bubbling past Alfred's lips as the massive hand easily circled around most of his neck.

"Once you begin, you don't get to decide when the game ends, _malysh_..."

**~**

Sergei tapped the belt against his thigh, a faux-exasperated grunt breathing past his teeth.

"I told you to count them out." He droned loudly, "What number were we at?"

The question was met with nothing but blathering babbles -- the same, cracked, high-pitched mews and peeps that had filled the room for the last few minutes.

Face down and spread-eagle, he was securely bound to the four-poster bed with the tight, metal handcuffs Sergei had taken from the U.B.C.S storage, 

With every movement of his head, Sergei could see the dark pool of wet fabric beneath Alfred's face.

Drool. Perhaps some tears, too. 

"What number?" Sergei repeated again, gaze brushing over the younger man's back until it settled upon the mound of swollen, beet-red flesh that was his buttocks. The skin there was so flushed and welted it almost looked like someone had spilled paint on it. Sergei couldn't help but lick his lips as he took it in, less fascinated by the current state of the bruising, ruined flesh than he was the thought of what would come after. 

The pain that would linger for days. The torment the young man would go through trying to find a comfortable position to sleep. The inability to walk. The sudden skipping of board meetings because he was unable to sit properly. It was all too delicious to contemplate. 

" ** _What number_**?!"

"D-nn.. I don... oww..." The words whined out in a broken hiccup, Alfred tugging meekly on the restraints that bound him.

Sergei smirked, "You lost count again, hmm?"

_FWAP_

Alfred shrieked loudly in pain as the belt made sudden contact with his already-broken flesh. He writhed and wiggled, but the cuffs locked around his ankles and wrists kept him firmly vulnerable. 

"We are going to have to start again, _malysh_..."

_FWAP_

"I _told_ you to keep count."

_FWAP_

Sergei could feel his shoulder's muscles creak in protest, the last lash landing particularly brutally. He cracked his neck against his shoulder, listening to the muffled, blood-curdling sobs of agony being screamed into the sheets. 

The metal handcuffs rattled loudly against the wood of the bedposts. 

_FWAP_

"Add just a few extra... For punishment, _da_?"

~

Sergei loved the dopey expression on Alfred's face. 

Head firmly turned towards Lord Spencer, sitting at the head of the table, his unscarred eye was casting its way to the corner, watching the young man sitting across from him.

Alfred's blue eyes were hazy and glazed, lips parted slightly, gaze looking no where at all. His Adams apple was bobbing through the tight flesh of his neck, bouncing over the white fabric of his stupid, silky necktie. 

Sergei smirked to himself, pursing his lips and turning his attention to the stationary in his lap. 

Amongst the notepads and manila folders -- a small, thin, white remote. No one would have noticed it as being out of the ordinary, simply looking like another piece of technology amongst the large pager that was clipped to the front of one of his folios. 

But it wasn't _just_ another piece of technology. 

It controlled the very powerful vibrator he'd inserted into the young blonde before the meeting. 

In fact, he'd inserted it there in the boardroom -- demanding the younger man's attendance a full half-hour before the briefing was to start. 

There was something perversely beautiful about looking across the dark mahogany table and knowing precisely where he'd had the blonde lay, pants around his ankles, hands spreading himself apart so as to accept the gracious gift that was prodded into him deeply with a long, scarred finger. 

Papers and coffee cups covered that space now. It was a secret between them.

With a graceful movement, Sergei slid a finger over the remote's panel, deciding what setting he'd hit next.

_Pulse._

The button clicked softly -- it would have been inaudible to anyone not paying attention and listening for it. But the groan that accompanied the direction turned the heads of every executive at the table, one dozen pairs of eyes snapping towards the young blonde.

Lord Spencer's sentence was immediately interrupted, the elder's brow furrowing deeply.

"Alfred?" He jeered, "Is there a problem, son?"

The blonde swallowed loudly, shaking his head frantically as he rocked ever-so-slightly in his chair. 

"N-no, S-sir... I j-just hav-e t-the flu."

Spencer scoffed loudly, "The flu?" He clucked his tongue.

"We're a goddamn _pharmaceutical_ company, the very last thing you should have is the _flu_. Send for the lab and take something for it!"

"Y-yes, S-sir..."

~

"I bet your _father_ would be very proud of you, wouldn't he?"

Sergei smirked when his sarcastic question was met with nothing but gargling, bubbling, groaning. 

A deep breath through his nose took in the scent of cum, sweat, and tears. Intoxicating, in its own perverse way. 

The Colonel sighed, leaning back on the desk he was standing beside. He folded his arms over his chest, pursing his lips and cocking his head to the side as he watched the scene unfold before him. 

The socialite had both of his holes stuffed -- two mercenaries working him deeply from both ends. 

Sergei had tried to keep it relatively orderly, having the men organise in a neat line and file in two at a time. It would be up to them to decide which hole to use, one taking Alfred's throat while the other took his cunt. He'd noticed some would alternate, and others would empty a load in each. Sergei had instructed them to do as they pleased, though irritation and impatience often got the best of the mercenaries.

He wasn't sure how many had used the younger man -- having stepped out to get a meal a few hours into the evening.

A filet mignon. Quite nice. A rare treat he'd only recalled ever having once before. He'd gone to the kitchen in the manor and requested it with the suggestion it was for Alfred, but had taken the silver-domed tray to the terrace and looked out over the gardens while he ate. 

Alfred was on a 48-hour cock-only diet, after all.

When he returned, Alfred was twice the mess he'd left him as. Cum coated almost every inch of flesh between his thighs and his neck, face glistening with pearly, white loads. 

"He asked you a question, _fuckface_." The young brunette that had been using Alfred's throat withdrew, planting a sharp, short slap on the Brit's face, "Answer it!"

Alfred sobbed nonsensically, shaking his head however weakly he was able to.

"No?" Sergei clucked his tongue. He turned to his side, plucking the gold-framed photo standing proudly at the corner of the desk. The sixth Earl Ashford stared at him stoically through the film, the large candelabra to his left recognisable as the one just down the hall. Sergei slowly lifted himself from the edge he'd been leaning on, sauntering over to the bed casually.

He held the photo over Alfred's face, waiting for the younger man's fluttering eyelids to stabilise and gaze fixate on the photo.

"Apologize to _daddy_ for being such a fuck-drunk slut." Sergei pouted cutely. The demand prompted a snort of amusement from the mercenary kneeling at Alfred's head.

Alfred's Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed the precum that had built up in his throat, a squelching gurgle escaping him as he did. 

"Apologize." Sergei repeated, wiggling the photo slightly.

"S... s--rr... d--da...yy..." 

Sergei barely acknowledged the attempt at words, nodding curtly at the mercenary beside him and silently allowing him to resume his abuse of the blonde's throat. 

He tossed the photo to the floor, turning to fall back against the desk with a sigh.

The men using him came to their climaxes shortly after he'd broken from this thoughts, breathy chuckles and clammy forearms swiping across clammier foreheads accompanying the brief moment of respite that came afterwards. 

"Thanks, Colonel." One sighed contently, tucking himself back in his fatigues. The other quickly seconded the appreciation, the two slowly making their way out of the room. 

"Tell the others to hold off a moment." Sergei suddenly called out, "And close the door behind you."

The two men quickly confirmed the order, and the door clicked shut carefully a moment later. The groans of displeasure on the other side were just barely audible. 

Steadily, Sergei stood from where he had been leaning once more, sauntering over to the edge of the bed and curling over to peer into Alfred's glazed, cum-crusted eyes. 

"You look pathetic."

Alfred didn't respond, or perhaps _couldn't_. His lips were parted, drool and ejaculate spilling from the corners obscenely. 

"Up for another..." Sergei flicked his unscarred eye over towards the grand grandfather clock at the other end of the room, "10 hours? There's a few more platoons to invite."

The blonde whimpered meekly, the half-formed sob coughing out of him accompanied by another tendril of spittle mixed with cum. 

Even if Alfred had been able to respond -- to protest, to forcefully demand to be let go, for the weekend to come to a close -- it wouldn't have mattered.

They both knew that.

~

"Those." Sergei pointed at the pair of glossy, black high heels on the nearest shelf. He turned his head slightly to assess the racks of neatly-hung clothes in the large, walk-in closet, quickly plucking a green-plaid skirt from a clipped hanger. 

"And this." He tossed the skirt at Alfred before striding out of the closet, sauntering back up to the chair he could practically call his own and settling in it with a grunt. The rich leather crunched beneath his weight, squeaking as he turned slightly to grab the half-full glass of wine he'd abandoned to go and inspect Alfred's clothes. 

His _faggot_ clothes.

When Sergei had demanded to see Alfred's selection of _faggot_ clothes, he hadn't anticipated it would have been a whole, separate closet. Perhaps a drawer or two. Maybe a box, hidden away in shame. But no -- the collection's storage was almost the size of a bedroom. Beautifully organised shelves of shoes and racks upon racks of precious, delicate fabrics. Lacy dresses, floral patterned skirts, and delicate, sheer blouses. 

He'd known Alfred liked to dress up. He'd confirmed that with his own two eyes during their first fuck, ripping the cute, tiny, pink panties down the younger man's thighs. 

Alfred was shaky in heels -- or perhaps they were just too high. The blonde tried to steady himself as he walked into the room, adorned in nothing but what Sergei had picked out. 

"It's shorter than it looked." Sergei smirked, unscarred eye flicking over where the hem of the pleats swayed with every step, Alfred's cock just barely visible and peeking out from the bottom of the fabric. He snapped his finger and pointed at his lap -- a silent instruction that was immediately followed. 

Alfred carefully straddled the older man's massive thighs, sitting on his lap so their chests were touching. He wrapped his arms around Sergei's broad shoulders, nestling his nose in the deep contour of the Colonel's strong neck. 

"You may speak."

"I want you to fuck me." Alfred began, speaking with all the casual malaise of a diner requesting an appetiser at a restaurant, "I want you to use me like a cocksleeve."

"Want?" Sergei interrupted, cocking an eyebrow and staring at nothing in particular as he continued to sip his wine, almost ignoring the presence of the younger man's body weighing down on his. 

" ** _Need_**." Alfred corrected, lifting his head from Sergei's neck and bearing his eyes into the older man's face directly, intently, " _ **Need**_. I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me your cocksleeve."

Sergei chuckled, "Continue."

"I need you to ruin me completely. I need you to turn me inside out with your big, long cock."

Alfred began to wiggle slightly as he spoke, clearly arousing himself with the filth that was confidently blathering from his lips. Sergei could feel the younger man's erection prodding into his belly.

"I need you to rape me. Use me up, make me leak from every hole. I w-- _need_ to be your cunt."

Sergei humphed, sniffing before taking another casual sip from the wine glass, "Maybe."

Alfred groaned loudly, a pout coming over his flushing lips. In one, fluid motion, he stood before positioning himself between Sergei's legs, dropping to his knees quickly. His hands ran their way up the other man's long boots, slipping over his mighty thighs and stroking the muscles there hungrily.

"Please, Sir. Please let me suck your cock." He mewed, blue eyes hazy beneath innocently fluttering lids. One of his palms was kneading the fabric where Sergei's thigh met his hip, stroking along the organ he could feel just beneath the material. 

"No."

"I need to!" Alfred pleaded, his entitled tone almost out of place in his demand to be molested, "I need to suck your cock! I need to serve you! Please!"

"You're not very good at it."

Alfred dropped his head, lips running along Sergei's fatigues, his words were muffled as he spoke, practically rubbing his face along the still-soft organ he could smell the manly musk of through the material, "Make me good at it! Break my neck. Rip my throat open. Use me however you want!" 

"I don't _want_ anything from you."

But he needed it, too.

And he hated it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT. I REALLY LIKE SERGEI/ALFRED NOW. 
> 
> WHY. WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF.
> 
> I may continue this. sOOOO if you liked it and want to see more, please let me know, or make some suggestions for what Sergei can do to Alfred next. <3


	3. Ruined Little Rich Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergei gives Alfred to his Ivan twins.

Month four on Rockfort. 

Fortunately, vodka and cigarettes were coming in a shipment fulfilment this month. Sergei often found himself casting his gaze longingly out on the ocean horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of that damned freighter beaming down through the grey nothingness with his _Moskovskaya._

As he wandered across the footbridge to the manor, bundled in a warm coat, he turned his head to check the horizon again. Just dark clouds which indicated the arrival of another snowstorm. 

He didn't bother knocking anymore. He'd left the door unlocked and it would remain so. Weeks ago, Sergei sent Alfred's butler away -- letting him return to the worker's quarters at the far end of the island. 

Not before offering him some severance in the form of Alfred's bound body, of course. 

Sergei pretended to be surprised when the chubby little man expressed that he had quite a bit _pent up_ frustration to take out on the pompous younger man.

_"I'm happy someone is finally... dealing with that... insolent brat... Mr. Colonel. Sir."_

_"Oh? And why is that?"_

Alfred's face had been red after the butler finished slapping him. Tears streamed freely down his swollen cheeks, complimenting the drizzle of blood from a just-barely split lip. It was almost 15 minutes before he'd finally stuck his short, fat cock in the blonde's mouth... but Sergei hadn't rushed him. 

He barely bothered to close the door as he strode in, unconcerned with the snow that would blow into the foyer. The manor was in a bit of musky disrepair as of late -- Sergei having decided it would be a good place for the mercenaries to throw their after-training parties. Garbage, empty liquor bottles, and bootprints were strewn about the marble floors and intricate, velvet carpets.

Boys will be boys, and all. 

Winding up the long, wide staircases and down the hall of the second floor, Sergei finally arrived to Alfred's bedroom.

Well, what had once _been_ Alfred's bedroom.

Now it was a _fuckroom_.

The sheets had long ago been stripped from the mattress and tossed in the corner, too filthy and soaked in cum, sweat, and piss to even let dry. The room practically looked like a war zone -- ripped clothes on the floor, stains on the carpets, and shattered picture frames and torn books ruined and discarded carelessly.

" _Privyet, kukla!_ " Sergei grinned brightly. A grin that was out of place for the scene which greeted him in return. 

He'd left the young man with his Ivan twins the previous night -- but not before injecting them with plenty of their synthetic reproductive hormones, and giving them a strict order not to let their captive die. 

The tyrants were using the blonde like a rag doll -- one in each hole, rutting carelessly like wild animals. Huge, heavy hands on his shoulders and hips kept him suspended slightly. The sounds of beastly grunting and filthy, wet chokes filled the room. The smell was almost nauseating in its perverse intoxication of every one of Sergei's senses. They'd been at it a while -- if they'd ever stopped at all. Tyrants had incredible natural stamina and virility, even without the added benefits of the drugs.

Sergei sauntered up to Alfred's side, smirking deviously. The Ivans didn't mind their Master's sudden presence, almost ignoring him completely as they continued to assail what they thought to be the breedable body before them.

"Your toy dropped!" Sergei tsk'd in annoyance, dipping down to grab the long, metal rod he'd inserted in the younger man's cock before he'd left, "You must have had quite a bit inside of you to piss it out like that, hmm? I suppose _Vanya_ didn't give you a bathroom break."

Carefully, he grabbed Alfred's limp, little cock, holding it steady in his palm as he prodded the end of the sound back into the slightly gaping urethral hole. He wrapped his fingers around the soft flesh, squeezing slightly as he pushed the rod back inside, not giving so much consideration to even providing some lubricant. The tiniest of whimpers managed to bubble up through the blonde's chest as it was fully sheathed, poking into his bladder firmly. 

Sergei stood and watched for a moment -- fixated hypnotically on how the massive cocks were bulging up through Alfred's flesh, his throat expanding and contracting with every thrust, and guts being punched from the inside. He could just barely see the faintest of grey bruises splotched where the cock was forcing its way up and down his abdomen.

Oh they _had_ been at it a while indeed.

"Okay, okay... _Dovol'no_." Sergei waved his hand dismissively, the order being immediately complied with. The two tyrants slowed their thrusts to a halt, hissing and roiling like stallions as they backed away. Alfred dropped on his back to the floor, instantaneously puking up a flood of orgasm through his still-gaped mouth. 

Sergei let him jaggedly wheeze and choke, unconcerned with his plight as he nonchalantly grabbed one of the boy's thin ankles, yanking it upwards to spread him and assess the damage between his legs.

"Oh my!" Sergei feigned shock, a faux-gasp escaping his lips, " _Blyat, kukla!_ You are **_really_** wrecked now."

While Alfred had by no means been a virgin the first time Sergei took him, what was a neat, tidy slit had steadily grown to a well-fucked, loose cunt after the countless gangrapes and insertion experiments Sergei had subjected him to. But even that was a far cry of acceptable decency from what he looked like now.

One of the Ivans had pulled out some of the boy's innards when it withdrew -- a puffy, swollen pink cocksleeve hung out obscenely, spurting out globs of thick, sticky cum.

"I don't know how to fix this, I'm afraid..." Sergei sighed, shaking his head as though exasperated. He raised the tip of his boot to the mound of tissue, prodding it curiously. The sensation immediately prompted a pathetic whine to gargle between the ragged stream of cum still drooling from Alfred's swollen, jaw-locked mouth. 

Sergei kneaded the sloppy tissue beneath the tread of his boot for a moment, lightly playing with it as a renewed smirk of maliciousness clawed at his scarred cheeks. 

"You might be like this permanently." He mewed, "Perhaps we have to get you some diapers to wear when you're not being fucked."

Sergei used the grip he had on Alfred's ankle to drag the younger man towards the bed -- the blonde's body like a hollow, plastic mannequin beneath his strength. He didn't resist the manipulation in the slightest, barely reacting when Sergei leaned down to grab a fistful of his hair and pull him onto the bare mattress. 

The Russian began to pull off his overcoat, letting it fall to the floor messily. He was just wearing his white sleeping undershirt beneath it, having only gotten out of bed an hour ago. He had wanted to have breakfast before checking up on Alfred, but curiosity got the best of him and he came from his room right away to ensure the Ivans hadn't killed him at some point during the night. Not that it would have stopped them, of course. They would have continued to fuck his leaking corpse until they were told to stop. 

"Such good boys." Sergei couldn't help but mutter at the thought, flashing a smile at the two who were now standing stoically at the end of the room, as though nothing had ever happened.

"I have to try and put you back together. You've ruined yourself. This is what happens when you're an insatiable faggot." Sergei lulled his head to the side in annoyance, as though he were discussing a chore, "Do you want me to use my fist or my cock?"

Alfred breathed a small moan, lips unable to move and throat unable to form words. 

Sergei sighed, leaning down over the pathetic figure, "I told you... You don't get to decide when the game ends." He said flatly, "Your only decision right now is _fist_ or _cock_. And I am being generous by asking."

The blonde's glassy eyes stared into his without blinking, brain totally empty to the words being forced through his cum-clogged ears. Every part of his body ached a deep, dull ache -- one that would have been nauseating had he not already just puked up every drop of liquid in his stomach. 

"Don't you think I'm generous, Alfred?"

The whining peep in response didn't resemble any attempt at words. 

"Fine." Sergei stood back up with a huff.

"If you want to be difficult. We will just have to do both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh. Okay.
> 
> Continue?


	4. Pretty Little Rich Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred has a final request of Sergei.

Sergei watched intently as Alfred carefully brushed the dark paint over his eyelid. 

The line was thin and clean, with a flicked, curt tail at the end that mimicked an eyelash. Alfred assessed his work, holding the hand-mirror a bit further before deciding he was satisfied. He set down the black pen and picked up another cosmetic Sergei couldn't identify -- something for his eyelashes, he supposed. 

He made quite a convincing woman, Sergei admitted to himself silently with a smirk. Especially after having adorned a long, blonde wig he had clipped to his own hair using well-placed bobby pins. 

He also looked nice in purple -- another silent admission that would never be spoken. The blushing violent of the silky dress contrasted against his pale skin, skin that was still marred with bruises and scratches, dark fingerprints and lash marks. Most of it was covered now, the long, ball-gown style attire lazily draped across his bony frame, leaving only his arms neck exposed. The rich material seemed odd against the filthy mattress he was sitting on to do his makeup -- so did his prettied-up face. 

Alfred capped the mascara and tossed it to the side, looking himself over a few final times and rubbing his painted lips together before doing the same with the hand mirror nonchalantly. It cracked loudly when it hit the floor, joining the rest of the mess that hadn't been tidied in months. 

The entire room had stunk of cum, sweat, and piss. And now, the slightest bit of Alfred's fanciful, powdery perfume mingled with the nauseating smell of careless, sloppy sex.

"Done." He breathed meekly. His voice was a bit broken and hoarse -- ravaged from his previous day's use in a glory hole for the platoon Captains. 

Sergei took down the last of his vodka, sighing as it burned his tongue. He'd already drank most of what had come on the shipment, two weeks ago. It had been good timing -- the notice came through shortly after that allowed the executives to return to their original posts. Sergei was going back to the Caucasus.

"I am doing this as a courtesy, you know this, yes?" The Russian began, setting his glass down and standing from the leather armchair he'd been throned in. He closed the distance between him and the bed slowly, hands playing on the buckle of his pant's belt.

"Yes."

"You know I don't give a fuck about what you want." 

Alfred nodded.

"This is my parting _gift_ to you." Sergei smirked, "For being such a good boy."

Alfred shuddered at the small bit of praise, leaning back against the bed's broken headboard and smoothing out the creases in his dress with a white-gloved hand. He'd been surprised when Sergei had been willing to comply with his request, expecting the tiny, post-blowjob peep of a small plea to be met with nothing more than a backhand.

A parting gift in their last night together. Bittersweet in its own, cruel way.

Alfred had never felt more elated or upset than when Sergei had told him he was being recalled to the Russian facility. 

The game was over.

He was ripped from his own thoughts when a massive hand coiled its fingers around his thin thigh, jerking him further down the mattress until he fell back into a laying position. He gasped loudly at the sudden manipulation.

"Well, well..." The older man was grinning down at him deviously, "What do we have here?"

Alfred immediately felt his face flush red, body instantaneously responding to the way Sergei was glaring at him predatorily. 

This was a different sort of game tonight. 

"Alexia Ashford." Sergei jeered, "The pretty little rich bitch of Umbrella, hmm?"

"L-let me go..." Alfred mewed, working to make his voice voice softer, more delicate. His well-used throat made it easier. 

" _Nyet_. You won't be going anywhere, Alexia." Sergei licked his scarred lips, hands working their way through the buttons of his pants, "Not until I'm done with you."

Every time his sister's name passed through the air and tickled his ears mangled in Sergei's rough, deep accent, Alfred felt a jolt of electricity bellow through his belly -- blood rushing to his cock excitedly.

Sergei knelt onto the bed, the now-well-used mattress groaning beneath his weight. Like a cat toying with prey, he straddled Alfred's body carefully, slowly dipping his knees on either side of the blonde's legs. 

"And when you do..." The older man dipped down to brush his lips against Alfred's ear, hushing his voice to a smooth, needle-sharp whisper, "It will be in a _fucking wheelchair._ "

Alfred yelped when Sergei grabbed at his chest, kneading the flesh beneath the empty bosom of the gown with a painfully tight grip for a few moments.

"Such small tits, _malyshka_. Not usually my type." He smirked, "Hopefully your cunt makes up for it."

Sergei sat back on his haunches, plucking long hem of the gown and shoving it upwards unceremoniously. A sardonic laugh accompanied the exposure, Sergei licking his lips and nodding in amusement. 

"No panties, of course." He chided with a cluck of his tongue, "What would a slut like _Alexia Ashford_ need with panties?"

"I-I'm n-not a slut..." Alfred swallowed, the hazy fog of lust in his head becoming dangerously thick.

"Of course you are, _malysh_. I've heard all the stories about you! And even if I hadn't..." Sergei accented his words by pushing roughly on Alfred's legs, the younger man weakly trying to keep his knees locked together but buckling under the strength quickly and having his thighs forced open, "I think this speaks for itself, _da_?"

"N-no!"

Sergei's unscarred eye gleaned devilishly, blue flicking over the sight of the ruined hole contently.

The hole _he'd_ ruined.

What a beautiful sight it was. 

He'd never had the opportunity of ruining someone so fully before -- working on them methodically, abusively until they were fundamentally transformed. Thinking about how it felt to fuck Alfred before their game had truly started gave him delirious chills of joy when he compared it to how it felt now. Inside and out, the boy had been ruined. 

"Oh, _malyshka_." Sergei started with a sigh, "I've seen tighter slits on old prostitutes in Stalingrad."

Alfred shuddered when Sergei's fingers extended to dance along the puffy, swollen lips -- a gash which had parted and trembled the moment Alfred's legs had been forced apart, pink innards peeking through the leathery flesh.

"Such a worn-out pussy. What happened? Was _daddy_ a bit too rough?"

Alfred gasped indignantly, the blush on his face glowing hotter with every passing moment. Sergei noticed the instant effect the crude words had, the smirk on his face pulling wider into a full-blown grin. 

"Is that it?" He cocked his head to the side, the long strands of his silver bang fanning out beside his face, "Daddy's been using you like a little _cocksleeve_?"

Sergei's hand slide up Alfred's cunt, fingers tickling along his balls before wrapping around his cock tightly. The blonde's back arched, hips bucking at the sudden contact with his most sensitive skin.

"Does he play with your clit when he fucks you, _malyshka_?" He squeezed Alfred's cock harder, the small organ was dwarfed and disappeared by his huge palm, "Or do you have to rub your own clit once he gets himself off?" 

Alfred could do nothing but whine pathetically, the grip on his cock both far too tight and not nearly tight enough. Ragged gasps were heaving out of him, gloved hands clawing at the mattress below. 

"Does he tell you you're a good girl while you're stroking your clit to the feeling of his cum in you?"

"N-no!"

"Liar." Sergei hissed, loosening his grip and pulling his hand away only to raise it and slap the beet-red organ roughly. Alfred sobbed loudly, eyes clenched shut tightly as shockwaves wracked every nerve in his body. Pain, pleasure -- everything. The sound of metal clicking drew his curiosity, and dark, curled lashes fluttered as he tried to peer over at Sergei through glassy eyes. 

The older man was tugging himself free of the fabric he'd loosened earlier, thick, long manhood pressing against Alfred's leg as it dropped heavily over him.

"Don't worry, Alexia, I'll let you play with your clit while I fuck you." Sergei smirked, hand pushing on Alfred's thigh and demanding it spread impossibly wider. 

"You just have to call me _daddy_."

~

Alfred sighed, crossed leg bobbing as he skulked over his paperwork, crystalline cup of tea dangling from one of his hands. 

He was exhausted. The day had been a long one -- multiple board meetings and then an inspection of the new laboratory. Sighing loudly, he took a sip from his glass, eyes fluttering about the room for a moment as he did.

It had been three months since Sergei left. And, almost as though by magic, everything had returned to complete normalcy. 

The very next day, cleaners arrived and silently banished the filth that had accumulated -- tiled floors sparkling and renewed. The smell of sex was gone in an instant. A new bed replaced the one that had been ruined -- velveteen sheets almost identical to the ones he'd had before. Even his butler had returned, resuming his duties as though nothing had ever happened. 

It was strange... But welcomed. A seamless transition from perverse to perfect. So very _Sergei_.

A knock drew his attention away from his thoughts, a few, professional rasps on the ornate bedroom door loudly echoing through the room.

"What?" He called out harshly, brow furrowing.

His butler emerged from through the crack made when he'd pushed the door open, silver tray in hand. He shuffled up to Alfred's desk, head bowed. 

"Apologies for the interruption -- but your phone has an alert, Sir." He said curtly, respectfully lowering the tray and offering the mobile device atop it to Alfred. 

"Oh..." The blonde snatched the device from the tray, shooing the other man off with a dismissive wave without so much as thanks.

Only when the door was latched firmly back in place did he look at it, biting his lower lip in curiosity.

Immediately, his eyes began to glimmer.

_8:23 p.m: Dinner?_

Alfred smiled, tongue popping from his lips and playing on the corner of his mouth for a moment as he hastily typed a reply.

_8:23 p.m: Where and when?_

He anxiously watched the dim screen for a response, a little flush of excitement washing over his pale cheeks. 

_8:24 p.m: Moscow, next week_

_8:24 p.m: & bring your dress _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEW. 
> 
> We made it!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this, thank you very much for doing so TT3TT

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to be on a quest to pair sergei with literally everyone.
> 
> Stop me. Before its too late.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Preference In Bedroom Activities](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844883) by [sweetNsimple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple)




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